


Shore To Ocean

by red0aktree



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Break Up, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:20:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red0aktree/pseuds/red0aktree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Best friends since birth, Steve and Bucky are inseparable; until Steve moves away, that is. Separated by thousands of miles, their relationship dissolves. </p><p>But now Steve is back to visit for the holidays. While the two struggle to keep their relationship platonic for the visit, they are reminded of all the reasons they fell in love in the first place. </p><p>Not a long distant fic // fluffy ending</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shore To Ocean

 

 

> “The heart can think of no devotion  
>  Greater than being shore to ocean -  
>  Holding the curve of one position,  
>  Counting an endless repetition.”  
>  _Devotion_ , Robert Frost

 

Bucky:  
how long now??

Steve:  
Mom says about another two and a half hours :(

Bucky:  
noooooo… drive faster!!!

Bucky:  
actually no. dont. drive safe. take your time.

Steve:  
Better late than dead ;)

Bucky:  
dont even joke about that dude.

Steve:  
;)) Be there before you know it

 

* * *

 

A familiar gray SUV pulled into the driveway of the Barnes’s household, creating fresh tire tracks in the pure white snow dusting the cement. Bucky watched from the window for as long as he could before wrenching open the door and bouncing on his toes in excitement.

As Steve clambered from the car, Bucky attempted to meet him halfway in the driveway. He aborted the movement, however, when he realized he was currently shoeless. Standing on the covered porch, he was trapped by the snowfall beyond the steps.

Steve crossed the slippery walkway in long steps, bounding up the stairs, the grin on his face bright enough to warm Bucky’s frostbitten cheeks. His arms were around Bucky’s neck before either could even give a proper “hello”.

Bucky spread his hands across Steve’s back, his heart aching with the time that had lapsed in Steve’s absence. Everything about hugging Steve felt safe, felt familiar. Even the Misfits hoodie he wore was well recognizable, seeing as it had once been Bucky’s own.

“Fucking took you long enough,” Bucky babbled, still holding Steve close. Steve’s laughter sent vibrations through Bucky’s chest, and for a second, Bucky could barely breathe.

“Shut up,” Steve grinned, pulling away finally. He tugged at the tips of Bucky’s bangs, which fell low, just passing his jaw. “God, your hair is getting long.”

“I know,” Bucky agreed, pushing it back from his face.

Sarah Rogers watched from where she stood behind her son, a duffle bag shoved over her shoulder. She examined the excited reunion without a word. Steve fussed over Bucky’s appearance, as was normal for the boys, and Bucky twitched his fingers as if refraining from touching the blond.

They didn’t say much, most of the greeting was made up of wordless grins. She knew, almost better than anyone, that the boys were content to smile at each other for all of time.

As the boys embraced in another hug, this time with Steve muttered a soft, “I missed you,” into Bucky’s neck, she felt a pang of guilt. It killed her to keep them separated. She had half a mind to just climb back into the car and drive off, leaving Steve on the doorstep. At this point, being abandoned by his own mother would probably hurt him less than the distance between him and Bucky.

“Alright, alright,” Sarah decided it was best to encourage them to moon over each other elsewhere, perhaps somewhere warm where Bucky wouldn’t freeze to death without a jacket or shoes. “Let’s get a move on, kiddos.”

Bucky looked passed Steve, noticing Sarah for the first time. He nodded enthusiastically, pushing them both inside and embracing Sarah in a hug of her own just inside the door. She held him close, pressing a kiss to his temple. Steve wasn’t the only one who had missed the boy.

“Mom’s not home from work yet,” Bucky explained quickly, taking the bag from Sarah without a word. “She really wanted to be here when you guys showed up, but they wouldn’t let her take the time off.”

“That’s alright,” Sarah smiled.

“I’ll take this up the guest bedroom, okay?” Bucky asked, hoisting the bag over his own shoulder. Steve’s things were still in the car. He hadn’t thought much about his own bags once he’d seen Bucky on the porch. “That’s where you’ll be sleeping. And Steve will be in my room.”

Sarah wasn’t ignorant enough to catch the look that passed between the two boys, part trepidation and part excitement.

“Or the couch. If you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Bucky backtracked, shifting nervously.

“Your room is fine,” Steve said, and Bucky deflated in relief, nodding. He turned and darted up the stairs, carrying Sarah’s things. Steve looked to his mother before she motioned with her hands, shooing him away and after the dark-haired boy.

Steve chased Bucky up the stairs, yelling something about wanting to see what Bucky had done to his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

“They were together, you know?” Sarah asked casually, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug.

Cate Barnes sat across the table from Sarah hours later, her own cup resting in front of her on the table. Steve and Bucky had been upstairs for hours. Occasionally they would march through the kitchen, always deep in conversation about something, leaving a whirlwind in their wake. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the absolute terror her son became when he was with Bucky.

“Who? The boys?” Cate asked, nodding toward the upstairs.

“Yeah,” Sarah smirked.

“Of course they were. They were never apart,” Cate replied cautiously, unsure of exactly what grounds she was walking on at the moment.

“Not like that,” Sarah clarified.

“Ah…” Cate nodded, “ _Together_ together. I see.” She looked toward the ceiling, as if eyeing the boys through the floor. “Can’t say that surprises me. It _does_ surprise me that Bucky didn’t tell me, though.”

“Steve didn’t tell me until we were already in Vermont.”

“Really? Huh.”

“It’s almost better that I didn’t know, though. Leaving wasn’t easy, but if I would have known… It would have made it _that_ much harder to separate them, you know? Steve’s been a mess since we left. I don’t know what to do.”

“Bucky too,” Cate replied tragically. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do, really. Steve’s welcome to visit anytime. Even if you can’t get the time off work, you can send him down here.”

“It’s just so far,” Sarah said, rubbing her forehead.

“Yeah, I know,” Cate sighed. “So what happened then? They aren’t together now, are they?”

“Well, I don’t know about _now_ now, but they broke up. Steve said they decided it would be too hard to try and stay together after the move.”

“What do you mean _now_ now?”

“Well it’s their first time seeing each other since the breakup,” Sarah smiled mischievously, “I’m a bit curious to see what they manage to get up to together.”

“Oh God,” Cate buried her face in her hands, “I don’t care what they do, so long as I don’t have to hear it.”

 

* * *

  
  
Upstairs, Steve and Bucky were sprawled out on Bucky’s bed, their shoulders touching. Bucky was propped up on his elbows, scrolling through his twitter feed on his phone. Steve was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“The snow is nice,” Steve said absentmindedly, drunk on the idea of being with Bucky again. It didn’t matter to him that it wasn’t like it used to be, just to be with his best friend again meant the world to him.

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky agreed, glancing out the window and then down to Steve. Steve held Bucky’s gaze for a few seconds, before his eyelids fluttered shut with exhaustion. Six hours was a long time to sit in a car.

“Are you tired?” Bucky asked, prodding Steve’s ribs with his elbow.

“Mmhmm,” Steve hummed, curling on his side on top of Bucky’s blankets, his knees knocking Bucky’s hip. Bucky’s phone screen dimmed with lack of attention.

“Okay,” Bucky said finally, shifting to climb from the bed, intending to let Steve nap in peace.

“No,” Steve’s eyes snapped open, his fingers curling around Bucky’s wrist. “You don’t have to leave.”

“I’m just going to bother you if I stay,” Bucky said, swallowing thickly at the warmth of Steve’s fingers against his skin. “You’ll never fall asleep.”

“Don’t need to sleep. Just need to rest,” Steve’s eyes were drooping shut again, but he forced them open. “We can watch a movie.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, leaning over the edge of his bed to grab his laptop. He scooted backward, propped against the headboard. Steve followed suit, and they both climbed beneath the covers. Even as tired as Steve was, his skin buzzed with the idea of being this close to Bucky again.

“ _Star Trek_?” Bucky asked as he browsed Netflix. The question was mostly rhetorical as he was already pressing play. Steve nodded regardless.

The pair snuggled down to watch the movie, which they’d already seen close to a hundred times, of course. Steve let his head fall on to Bucky’s shoulder as he drifted to sleep, feeling warmer than he’d felt in the six months he’d been away from the center of his universe.

 

* * *

 

_“Vermont?” Bucky asked, eyes blazing. “Are you fucking serious, Steve?”_

_“It’s not my choice, Buck,” Steve looked close to tears. He sat cross legged on Bucky’s couch as Bucky paced back and forth in front of the television._

_“When? When are you leaving?”_

_“End of this month,” Steve whispered. When he had told Bucky they needed to talk, Bucky had assumed they were breaking up. This was somehow so much worse._

_“Fucking fantastic,” Bucky all but yelled, running his hands through his hair angrily._

_“Stop getting angry,” Steve’s voice was louder now, and his hands were shaking. “This isn’t something I want, Bucky.”_

_Bucky eyed Steve for a long time, neither of them daring to look away. The eye contact was hateful and ardent and so full of love that it hurt._

_“It’s not fair,” Bucky whispered finally, his shoulders slumping. Steve’s eyes lost their defensive glint as he too began to feel the sorrow that had overtaken his entire being since his mother gave him the news. It was such a good job, and such a cheap neighborhood. They would have the money they needed for his medicine and there was a hospital that could help him nearby and all they had to do was leave behind every single thing Steve loved and cherished._

_“I know,” Steve replied softly, tears dripping down his cheeks. He wiped them away with trembling hands._

_Bucky crossed the space between them, capturing Steve’s face in his hands. He pressed their lips together quickly, before dropping his forehead to meet Steve’s, their noses nestled against one_ _another._

_“I only just got you, Steve. I can’t lose you now.”_

 

* * *

 

Dinner between the two families was loud and boisterous. Steve, now refreshed from his nap, was just as snarky and sarcastic as ever, causing Bucky to snort with laughter. Sarah and Cate joined in on the gentle teasing that was thrown around the table, and it hurt to know that they couldn’t have this every night.

“All I’m saying,” Steve placated. “Is it’s just really not worth it to have poker night. Bucky can barely count to 12.”

“You don’t need you be able to count to play poker,” Bucky threw his hands in the round, almost knocking his milk over.

“How are you gonna bet then?” Steve laughed, pressing his foot against Bucky’s shin beneath the table.

“Pure luck,” Bucky nodded seriously, letting their thighs fall against each other’s as they ate.

“Sorry to tell you Bucky,” Cate interrupted. “But Steve might be right here.”

“Of course I’m right. Not that I’d _mind_ robbing you blind, Buck.”

“Oh shove off,” Bucky huffed. “You just like Steve better, Mom. Admit it.”

“I will admit that,” Cate agreed. “At least he can count to twelve.”

“I _can_ count to twelve! Where did you guys even get the idea that I couldn’t?”

“Probably that time you got stranded at the subway station because you thought you had enough money to ride home but didn’t,” Sarah reminded him.

“Oh my God, we’re dropping this right now,” Bucky said with a tone a finality. Steve and Cate erupted with laughter.

When Steve and Bucky washed the dishes after dinner, their bodies were pressed together side by side from their shoulders to their ankles. It felt scandalous and familiar all at once.

“We broke up, right?” Steve asked once they returned to Bucky’s room and the teasing had stopped. The air felt heavy.

“Yeah,” Bucky’s throat tightened. “Yeah, we broke up.” Bucky busied himself with finding pajamas for himself. Steve shifted on the edge of Bucky’s bed, watching the muscles of Bucky’s shoulders shift as he sifted through fabrics.

“And we’re both single right now, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, almost in a whisper.

“So,” Steve hesitated. “Why don’t we hook up? You know, just while I’m in town. People do that sort of thing, right?”

Bucky froze in place, his hands trembling with emotion. Images of long nights and pale skin flashed before his eyes. He shut them tightly, knowing full well that Steve could see his reflection in the mirror.

“Steve,” Bucky said. “That’s really not a good idea.”

“If you’re not, you know, interested in me anymore, I get it,” Steve’s voice broke, and Bucky was all but forced to open his eyes at the sound of Steve’s distress. He watched the blond through the glass of the mirror, his hands gripping the corners of his dresser. Steve had his knees pulled to his skinny chest, his socked toes peeking over the lip of the mattress as he perched on the edge.

“You know that I am,” Bucky didn’t look away from where his eyes were locked on Steve’s in the reflection. “It’s just, if we do that, it’s going to make it so much worse when you leave again.”

“I know,” Steve whispered. Bucky turned around, and leaned against the dresser.

“It’s a really bad idea, Steve,” Bucky reiterated. Steve watched with sad blue eyes, but didn’t say anything. “I mean it,” Bucky continued. Steve stayed silent. Bucky turned around, rummaging through the drawers again.

“I just really miss you, that’s all,” Steve admitted finally, and that was all Bucky could take.

“I fucking said no, Steve,” Bucky snapped, turning to glare at the smaller boy. Steve’s eyes were wide now, and there were the beginnings of tears trembling across his lids. Steve watched as Bucky stormed from the room and down the stairs, leaving the upper floor shrouded in frigid silence.

 

* * *

 

_It’s better this way,” Bucky whispered between kisses, pressed against Steve’s mouth, his cheek, his neck. Steve arched his back, his hips pressed against Bucky’s._

_“I know,” he gasped into Bucky’s mouth, feeling Bucky’s dick hardening beneath his jeans._

_“Long distance never works,” Bucky continued, taking Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth._

_“I_ know _,” Steve growled, his fingers fumbling with Bucky’s zipper, “Fuck, Bucky.”_

_“This is what’s best for us,” Bucky wasn’t trying to convince Steve anymore. The words were for Bucky’s benefit alone. “We can’t stay together.”_

_“Just fuck me already,” Steve moaned, grinding against Bucky desperately. Bucky obliged. And though there was no such thing as bad sex with Steve Rogers, it was different this time. This time there was the pressure of time, and the reminder of how little of it they had left filled the room with a darkness neither of them could shake._

_Afterwards, as they lay shaking and worn, Bucky felt tears prick at his eyes. It would be simple to pass it off as over-stimulation, or exhaustion, but as Steve pulled him in close, letting Bucky bury his nose in_ _the column of his throat, they both knew it wasn’t._

_The illusion had been shattered. Reality rested upon them as they wound together, warm and desperate._

_Steve was leaving, and they were breaking up. Bucky was losing more than just his lover, he was losing his best friend. And_ that _was far more heartbreaking._

 

* * *

 

When Bucky returned to the room close to three hours later, the rest of the house was sleeping. His bedroom was dark as he slipped inside, quiet as he knew to be. Steve was motionless, curled beneath the thick winter blankets. Bucky changed into soft sweatpants and an army tshirt.

He climbed gently into the space on the left side of the bed -- _his_ side of the bed -- and settled down with as little movement as possible. He didn’t want to disturb Steve’s fragile sleep.

Bucky let out a quiet sigh, but froze when he heard a soft voice fill the room.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Bucky answered after several moments. “I’m a fucking wreck, that’s what I am.”

Steve shifted, turning to face Bucky. They lay on their sides, facing each other, curved like parentheses. Bucky knew this position well, from the warm days of their childhood and their tiny lifetime as lovers.

“Me too,” Steve whispered. “We can be wrecks together.”

Bucky gave a small smile at that, matching Steve’s own. It was sad and broken and Bucky was so in love that it was tearing him apart.

“If that isn’t the story of our fucking lives, than I don’t know what is,” Bucky whispered back.

They watched each other for several heartbeats more before Bucky shuffled forward, nudging Steve backward with warm hands. Steve went as Bucky requested, laying on his back. Bucky curled into Steve’s side, resting his cheek against the bony chest. Steve immediately curled his arms around Bucky, holding him protectively.

Bucky nestled against Steve’s warm, thin frame and sought comfort as the pair slept through the night.

The pale morning sun found the two boys wrapped around one another, only Bucky awake to watch the sunlight filter through the window, sliding across the carpeted floor until it finally crept to Steve’s face, illuminating it softly. The light framed Steve’s smooth cheekbones and long eyelashes beautifully. Bucky found himself wanting to weep at the treasure before him, in his arms.

Bucky untangled himself from the bed, slipping from the sheets and into the shower before Steve could awake. It was cruel of Bucky to leave him there, but even more cruel for Steve to ask him to stay.

 

* * *

 

“He’s still in love with you, you know?” Natasha asked over her drink, sipping her rootbeer casually. Bucky didn’t have to ask her who she was talking about. They were both leaned against the counter of Natasha’s familiar kitchen, modern and spotless. Steve was talking excitedly with Sam, Clint standing nearby hanging on Steve’s every word. Steve’s smile was so wide Bucky thought he might hurt himself.

“I know,” Bucky replied, taking a long drink of his own soda. “Trust me, I know.”

“Wait, have you fucked him? Jesus, Barnes, he’s only been in town a day.”

“What?” Bucky asked, looking at Natasha in exasperation. “What? No. No, we haven’t slept together. We’re broken up.”

“So?” Natasha looked confused, as if Bucky and Steve being separated meant nothing to her.

“So, I’m not going to sleep with him if I’m not dating him.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“Yeah well this isn’t _before_ anymore, Nat,” Bucky snapped, taking another drink.

“Alright Barnes,” Natasha huffed, turning to fix him with a glare, “What’s the real reason? What’s going on?”

“He asked me to,” Bucky said quietly, refusing to look at Natasha. Instead he watched Steve as he talked with Sam, his hands flittering through the air as he used them to explain something. He was wearing his stupid combat boots, and skinny jeans that drove Bucky mad.

“Asked you to what?” Natasha asked, still studying Bucky’s profile.

“To sleep with him. Last night. He said we could ‘hook up’.”

“And you said no?”

“Of course I said no,” Bucky laughed humorlessly. “It can’t can’t be like that between us. We can’t just sleep together and then part ways. It’s not… It’s different with us. It isn’t easy.”

“It’s love, Barnes. It’s not supposed to be easy.”

Bucky turned to Natasha finally, watching her curiously. He mulled over his words as she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and patting his shoulder. She stalked away, joining the crowd around Steve.

In the living room, Steve Rogers twisted and turned, chatting with as many people as he could. Let it never be thought that Steve was anything but adored by the group around him. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Bucky Barnes quietly fell apart, sipping his drink and hoping no one noticed.

 

* * *

 

There was something sacred and sentimental, buried not all that deeply in Steve’s heart, that belonged entirely to Natasha. It was more than just love. No, it was reverence and adoration. It was her solidarity in a changing world, her ability to adapt when Steve himself could not. It was long Skype calls from hundreds of miles away when the distance became too much and Steve missed his friends so much it tore him apart.

She always answered the call. And even though she never knew exactly what to say at first, she figured it out. She mended what she could and gave Steve the strength to fix the rest.

So of course, when she pulled up outside the Barnes’s household on Christmas Eve’s eve, Steve didn’t hesitate to agree to her plans.

“I’m dropping Clint off here,” she explained as she stood at the doorstep, a very bundled up Clint at her side, “And taking you Christmas shopping. Barnes and the abominable snowman here can go shopping on their own.”

“Not so sure that’s a good idea, Nat,” Steve said as he stepped aside, letting Clint shuffle his way inside. “They won’t get anything done if we leave them alone.”

“You’re probably right,” Natasha agreed, “Now get your coat and let’s go.”

Bucky bid Steve goodbye, reminding him that they had plans tonight once Cate got off work, and then began assisting in unwrapping Clint from within the depths of his scarf.

“Fucking hate the cold,” Clint muttered as Steve promised to be home soon and stepped out the door, his padded army jacket wrapped around his shoulders.

“I know you do buddy,” Bucky consoled, turning up the heat.

 

* * *

 

Steve had been right. By the time Clint’s phone chimed with a text from Natasha announcing her departure from the mall, Clint and Bucky were sat warmly on the couch, coffee cups in front of them and Xbox controllers in hand.

“Well fuck,” Clint muttered, tucking his phone back in his pocket and unpausing the game, “I think Natasha wanted me to actually get you out of the house. I think she’s worried you didn’t get Steve anything.”

“What kind of barbarian does she think I am?” Bucky laughed, only mildly offended.

“The Christmas-hating type. Oh shit -- On your right.”

“I saw it,” Bucky assured, tilting his controller trying to make the shot. It was tradition for Clint and Bucky to engage in a massive Call of Duty marathon whenever they had free time. Bucky was always a sniper, and he was damn good at it too. “And I _did_ get Steve a gift, by the way.”

“What did you get him?” Clint asked, pounding the buttons furiously.

“Wanna see?” Bucky asked, pausing the game to Clint’s disappointment. He only frowned a moment though, before shrugging.

“I guess.”

Bucky beckoned for Clint to follow, leading Clint to his messy bedroom. Stashed deep in the recesses of Bucky’s closet were two books, wrapped messily in plastic bags. Bucky removed them carefully, kneeling on the carpet as Clint stood behind him.

“ _Constantine_?” Clint asked, eyeing the comic in Bucky’s hand.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, pressing both books into Clint’s hands. One was brand new and glossy, purchased over a month ago on a passing whim. The other was a disaster, pages crimped and worn. Aside from the wear, however, it was exactly identical to the new copy.

“You got him two of the same book?”

“Kind of,” Bucky shrugged, taking the books back. “This one,” he held up the worn copy, “was the first gift Steve ever gave me. We were real young.”

Bucky stared at the worn cover for just a moment, remembering how badly wrapped it had been. Steve had insisted on buying it himself as a stubborn eight year old. Bucky had cherished it then, and even more now. The story within the pages didn’t even matter anymore, the heart of the gift was the years of comfort Bucky had sought from the book. Anytime he had fought with Steve, or missed him so badly it burned, he would flip through the worn pages and remind himself of all they’d shared.

“So why’d you buy him a new copy?” Clint prompted.

“To remind him. Of how long it’s been since we were kids.”

“You’re a fucking sap, Barnes,” Clint laughed. His tone was teasing, but secretly he melted, just a bit, at the lovestruck look in Bucky’s eyes. He’d always been a little bit envious of Steve and Bucky’s whole lives, really. Clint knew what it was like to have a brother, someone who you knew was always going to be there for you. But Steve and Bucky weren’t brothers, they were soulmates, as far as Clint was concerned. Anyone would be jealous of that.

“Steve likes that kind of poetic shit,” Bucky defended, returning the books to their hiding spot. “Back to our game?”

“Sure,” Clint agreed, watching Bucky curiously. His gaze was somewhere between overjoyed and completely wrecked. Clint figured that was what love looked like. “You know Barnes, you’re only ever happy when Steve’s here. You know what that means don’t you?

“No, please enlighten me, Clint,” Bucky snorted, glancing over his shoulder as they trudged back down the stairs.

“It means you love him,” Clint’s grin was wicked.

“I already knew that, you fucking asshole,” Bucky didn’t even hesitate when he said it. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

 

* * *

 

“Aww, mom, look at that one,” Steve cooed, gaze deadset on the feathery needles of another spruce tree. Bucky trudged alongside him, hands deep in his pockets. The air around them was frigid in the way only Brooklyn could manage.

“They’re just trees, sweetie,” Sarah laughed, catching Bucky’s eye as Steve rubbed the pine needles between his fingers thoughtfully. They were cutting it close, getting a tree so close to Christmas. It was at Bucky’s insistence. There was no way he was decorating a tree without Steve beside him, not this year, not ever. Sarah raised an eyebrow, nodding toward her son. Bucky shrugged helplessly. There really was no stopping Steve Rogers during Christmas season.

Truly a sight to behold, Steve bounced on his toes in his ratty army jackets, frayed from years of use. His cheeks were rosy in the cold, and Bucky was only mildly concerned that he was going to freeze to death.

Bucky fell into step beside Cate and Sarah as Steve dashed forward, eyeing another tree. “I don’t know where he gets it from,” Sarah sighed, “Nobody in the Rogers family cares about Christmas as much as he does.”

“He’s just a cheerful person,” Cate laughed. Though she wasn’t darting about like Steve was, she shared a much greater passion for the holiday spirit than both Bucky and Sarah combined. Christmas had always been like this between the Barnes and Rogers’s households. Cate and Steve would bounce about, making cookies and singing terribly, while Sarah and Bucky complained about the weather and the traffic and admired the amount of love their tiny family held.

“You guys aren’t helping me pick,” Steve whined from up ahead, turning around to frown at the group.

“Yes we are,” Sarah called back, “We’re just not as eager as you are, kiddo.”

“Scrooges. The lot of you,” Steve accused, stretching out a gloved hand and wiggling his fingers. His lips were pulled into a pout. “Somebody come walk with me at least.”

“That’s your job, Buckaroo,” Cate teased, pushing her son forward. He glared at his mother in betrayal before hanging his head and crossing the tree-lot in long strides, catching up with Steve.

Steve didn’t lower his hand once Bucky reached him, instead he linked their fingers together and tugged him along. Bucky was a bit taken aback by the motion, but allowed it. Of course he allowed it.

“I like this one,” Steve told him softly, touching a small tree with his empty hand. Bucky hummed in appreciation.

“It’s nice,” Bucky agreed.

“But this one is nice too,” Steve said, turning to another tree he had spent a great deal of time admiring. He didn’t break their linked fingers.

“True,” Bucky nodded, watching the conflict on Steve’s face.

“What do you think?”

“I think that they’re just Christmas trees and that they’re going to die in a few weeks anyway,” Bucky answered cynically, immediately feeling guilty as Steve’s face fell.

“Don’t say that, Buck,” Steve begged. “Please don’t remind me of that.”

Bucky flicked his eyes across Steve’s pale face. His teeth were chattering slightly from the cold, and Bucky knew that it was more than just the tree he was thinking about dying.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky muttered honestly, pulling Steve in close. Steve turned away, just a bit, allowing Bucky to wrap his arms around his thin waist. Cate and Sarah weren’t watching, and even if they were, it didn’t matter. Comforting Steve was more important than their opinions, anyway. “I was only joking.”

“I know,” Steve whispered. Bucky hooked his chin over Steve’s shoulder, Steve’s back fitted tightly against Bucky’s chest, the bony line of his spine centering Bucky perfectly.

“I like the first one better,” Bucky decided, “It’s dorky lookin’.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Guess it reminded me of you,” Steve nodded as he spoke, as if deciding on something important. His words startled a laugh out of Bucky.

“You’re such a fucking punk,” Bucky grinned, nuzzling his cold nose into Steve’s hair, eliciting a tiny squeak.

Steve fell asleep against Bucky’s shoulder on the drive home, the “dorky” Christmas tree tied to the roof of the car and the sound of soft Christmas music filling the interior.

 

* * *

 

The breakfast Cate cooked the following morning was worthy of the Gods. Bucky and Steve awoke sleepily, sipping coffee in the kitchen and attempting to steal bacon from the pile Cate was creating. She smacked their hands with the spatula and banished them to the living room.

Together the boys took on the task of untangling Christmas lights, measuring them out against the bare tree, strapped tightly into the stand in the center of the living room. Bucky sang Jingle Bells loudly -- and so off tune in made Steve’s eyes crinkle in laughter -- as he unwrapped long strands of tinsel.

“Those aren’t even bells, Buck,” Steve teased. Bucky flipped him off.

Sarah made her way downstairs just as Bucky began unpacking boxes of ornaments. She poured herself coffee in the kitchen before being shooed away by Cate just as the boys had been.

“Good morning little elves,” Sarah greeted her boys, curling up on the plush arm chair she favored. Bucky and Steve just grinned. Even Bucky agreed that decorating the tree was the best part of Christmas.

“Hey remember this?” Bucky asked, holding up a clay ornament. At one point it had looked like a tree. Now it was chipped at worn from a dozen Christmases worth of love. On the back, carved in sloppy letters, was Steve’s name.

“Oh yeah! Mrs. Emerson’s class!” Steve snatched the ornament from Bucky’s fingers. “That was the best art project. Where’s yours?”

Bucky shrugged, digging through the shoe box in search of their second grade art project. Bucky remembered sitting beside Steve in the colorful chairs of their elementary school, delicately shaping their clay figures. At the end of the day Mrs. Emerson had collected them gently and took them to a local art shop to have them fired in the kiln. The memory made Bucky’s heart ache.

“Here it is,” Bucky triumphed, holding up a lopsided star. “Looking pretty sad these days.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sarah offered from her chair. Bucky and Steve exchanged sad glances, before smiling at the blonde woman.

“Thanks,” Bucky muttered, shuffling across the carpet on his knees to hang the ornament on a low branch. “Hand me yours,” Bucky commanded. Steve placed the tree in Bucky’s hand, watching silently as he stretched upward, hanging Steve’s as high as he could reach while staying on his knees.

Both boys admired the tree, kneeling side by side at the base. It was gorgeous. Steve hadn’t lied when he said it reminded him of Bucky.

As the boys washed the breakfast dishes almost an hour later, Cate dug around in the Christmas decorations on her own. Sarah watched from her chair, smiling conspiratorially with Cate as she produced mistletoe from deep within the box’s depth. She stood on her tiptoes to hang it in the doorway between the living room and kitchen.

The boys were too busy bickering

 

* * *

 

“Steve. Steve. Hey. Steve.”

Bucky was without a doubt the most annoying person Steve had ever met in his entire life. Sitting at the kitchen table, Steve was typing away on his laptop, focusing on the unholy amount of homework he had been assigned for winter break.

“What Bucky?” Steve snapped, not looking away from his screen. Bucky was puttering about in the kitchen he had been asked to clean while Sarah and Cate were out for the day visiting friends.

“Come help me,” Bucky ordered.

“No.”

“Steve.”

“I have work to do, Bucky.”

“Steve. Look at me.”

“What?” Steve growled, glaring at him over the top of his laptop screen finally. Bucky was twisting a towel around in his hands, looking mischievous.

“Ten points if I make it?” Bucky asked, balling the towel up.

“Make what?”

“This,” Bucky grinned, throwing the balled up towel as hard as he could. It came undone in the air, fluttering to a stop across Steve’s screen, blocking it from view.

“Yes! Holy fuck, yes!” Bucky cheered. “Now you have no work!”

“That’s it,” Steve fumed, though he was trying to contain a laugh. “You’re gonna get it.”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re angry,” Bucky teased, dropping into a crouch-like position, as if to fight Steve. Steve darted around the island, swiping at Bucky. Bucky dodged Steve’s quick hands, arching his back to squirm away. Steve tried again, this time catching Bucky’s shirt in his strong fingers.

“Hey,” Bucky laughed as Steve tugged him closer, “You’re going to stretch it out.”

“Fuckin’ deserve it,” Steve mumbled, grabbing Bucky’s face in his palms, squishing his cheeks purposely. “Settle down,” Steve commanded.

“But I want to hang out with you,” Bucky whined, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. Steve’s gaze lingered on the pronounced lip for longer than he should have.

“Then let me finish my homework.”

“Nope,” Bucky twisted free of Steve’s grasp, darting around the island toward the kitchen table. Steve chased after him immediately. “No more homework for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Steve warned, stretching his arm out to catch Bucky before he could slam Steve’s laptop shut. Steve was just a second too late, and the computer closed with a snap, the towel trapped between screen and keyboard.

“Bucky!” Steve gasped in exasperation, praying that he had saved his project.

“Bet you can’t catch me,” Bucky taunted, knees bent and ready to run. Steve glared at him from the opposite side of the tiny round table. Steve started to circle the table, but Bucky just countered the movement, keeping Steve directly across from him.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Steve growled. Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“Oh gosh Stevie, no need to curse.”

Steve lunged across the table, catching Bucky’s wrist in his hand. Bucky froze in surprise for a moment, giving Steve just the time he needed to barrel into his chest. It took all of Steve’s weight to put Bucky off balance, considering their considerable size difference. Bucky fell backwards, his back slamming into the wall near the doorway to the living room.

“You little shit,” Steve scolded, digging his fingers into Bucky’s ribs where he knew he was the most ticklish.

“Oh no you don’t,” Bucky wrenched free of Steve’s grasp, wrapping his own hands around Steve’s wrist. In one quick motion, Bucky switched their positions, pinning Steve against the wall, his hands trapped above his head. Their breath mingled as they tried to fill their lungs, winded from excitement. Bucky was laughing, but Steve was definitely not.

“Bucky let go,” he commanded, dropping the joking tone he had carried through the entire event. Bucky heard it immediately, letting go of Steve’s hands as if he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered, stepping backwards out of Steve’s personal space. Steve dropped his gaze. “I was only joking.”

“No,” Steve corrected, looking back up. His eyes were bright with a passion Bucky knew well. They were either about to fight or fuck. There was no other explanation for the fire in Steve’s eyes. “That was not joking. That was flirting. And you fucking know it.”

“I… Steve…” Bucky said helplessly, trying to escape Steve’s gaze.

“I’m done Bucky. If you don’t want to sleep with me, fine. Whatever. That’s your choice,” Steve squared his shoulders, tightening his jaw in a way that scared Bucky almost as much as it turned him on. “But _this_ , whatever _this_ is, it’s over. I’m finished pretending like it isn’t killing me inside.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“To what, Buck? To hurt me? Because that’s what you’re doing.”

Bucky watched Steve, his chest heaving with angry breaths. Bucky’s hands trembled, from the adrenaline of the rough-housing and the anxiety of Steve’s words. Steve waited for Bucky to speak, but Bucky didn’t know what to say.

“Either kiss me or leave me alone. Because last night was the last night I sleep in your bed without being able to fuck you.”

Bucky didn’t hesitate in smashing their lips together.

 

* * *

 

Bucky and Steve only officially dated for three months before Steve had to leave.

Though, really, they had been together much longer than that. Nobody was surprised when they finally announced they were “dating”. It was a long time coming.

The Barnes household had been intertwined with the Rogers’s since long before Bucky and Steve were even born. School friend’s since late in their high school days, Cate and Sarah had gotten pregnant at the same time. Cate from a man who left before he even met his boy, and Sarah from a hero of a man who proposed to her the moment he found out she was having his baby.

The story continued from there.

Bucky and Steve first held hands when they were four.

They first kissed when they were eleven. It was on a dare, so “ _it didn’t count, Bucky_ ”. Their first kiss that “counted” was two years later. It was a sticky summer day and Bucky wore only his swim trunks. They didn’t tell anyone.

Steve gave his virginity to Bucky at age sixteen. Bucky had lost his own only a few months prior to Lydia Harrison. She was pretty, but she wasn’t Steve. When Natasha found out, she asked if they were dating. Steve said no before Bucky could say anything. He didn’t tell anyone that he would have said yes.

They finally decided to call it dating once Steve whimpered an accidental, “I love you,” against Bucky’s neck as they fucked. They’d been saying those same words to each other their whole lives and they’d never carried as much weight as they did in that moment. After that, Bucky begged Steve to let him do it right.

“I’ll take you on dates, I swear,” Bucky had pleaded, “And I’ll buy you flowers and chocolates and anything else you want. Just let me call you my boyfriend. Please, Steve.”

Later that week, when Tony Stark taunted them with one of his classic _here comes Barnes and his not-boyfriend_ jokes, Steve bared his wicked teeth.

“Actually, I _am_ his boyfriend, and I would prefer to be referred to as such, if you insist.”

Steve had only slept with one person in his entire life. It didn’t matter, really it didn’t. Some people slept with a lot of people. Others didn’t. Steve didn’t care about those kinds of things. But for some reason, he cared about this. He cared because it meant he belonged to Bucky and Bucky alone.

Steve was sentimental about things like that.

 

* * *

 

“Did we do it right, Steve?” Bucky mused, trailing his fingers through Steve’s sweaty hair.

“Do what right, Buck?” Steve asked, his voice dripping with exhaustion. His cheek was pressed against Bucky’s chest, the warm sound of Bucky’s heartbeat filling his thoughts.

“Everything. Us. You and me. Did we do it right?” Bucky sounded nervous, his trembling fingers still filtering through Steve’s hair. Steve stroked soft patterns into the sensitive skin on Bucky’s stomach, hoping to calm whatever panic Bucky had worked himself into.

“There isn’t a _right_ way to fall in love, Buck,” Steve whispered, loud enough for Bucky to hear.

“I know, yeah, I know that,” Bucky was silent for a long moment, “But I kind of feel like I never did right by you.”

“You did just fine, sweetheart,” Steve comforted, turning slightly to press a kiss to Bucky’s collarbone. It was so gentle it drew a whimper out of Bucky’s throat. Steve tilted his head, watching Bucky curiously.

“Steve,” Bucky whimpered again, tugging at the strands of Steve’s sandy hair still wrapped around his fingers. Steve crawled up the bed, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips, and then one to his brow. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, rolling him so their positions were reversed. Bucky clung to Steve desperately, nuzzling against Steve’s neck.

“We’re okay Buck, everything’s okay,” Steve consoled, pressing another soft kiss to Bucky’s hair.

“It’s like I can see a countdown in my head, Steve,” Bucky confessed, “We only have twelve days until you leave again.”

“A lot can happen in twelve days, Buck,” Steve chuckled, though he felt a pang of sadness at the reminder.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Bucky burrowed closer to Steve’s warm form, “Is this how it’s going to be for us forever?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, concerned at the tremble in Bucky’s voice.

“Limited.”

Steve let out a long sigh. “It was always limited for us, Buck. We just didn’t know it yet.”

 

* * *

 

Tony Stark had very little patience. Actually, he had none at all. When Steve and Bucky entered his house in the early afternoon on Christmas Eve, their arms filled with presents, Tony stuck out his hand, demanding the one with his name on it. Steve exchanged a confused glance with Bucky before handing the gift over.

“Thank you very much, you may now enter,” Tony smirked, swinging the door open to let them inside.

“You’re such a prick, Stark.”

“Prick and proud,” Tony nodded, leading them into the kitchen.

In true Tony Stark fashion, the counter was laden with eggnog and Christmas cookies. Natasha and Sam sat on tall bar stools, Sam wearing a floppy Santa hat on his head. At the nearby table, Clint and Pepper clutched playing cards to their chests, while Thor scrolled through his phone from his seat to Clint’s left. A chorus of “Hello” and “Merry Christmas” rang out through the crowd.

“We brought presents,” Steve grinned, placing the neatly wrapped gifts on the table. Bucky let down the ones he was carrying as well, watching as Steve began to shrug out of his coat. Bucky reached forward, grabbing the jacket from Steve without a word. Bucky hung the two coats over the back of an empty chair, thinking nothing of the motion.

The act caught Tony’s attention, however. He raised an eyebrow at Bucky, glancing between the two of them.

“You guys finally did it, didn’t you?” The action caught Natasha’s eye as well.

“Nat! Jesus, who the fuck--”

“Actually, we _did it_ years ago,” Steve interrupted Bucky with a sickly sweet smile. “But that’s really not of importance.”

Bucky gaped at the scene, glancing between Steve and Tony and Natasha. Steve noticed Bucky’s discomfort and stepped forward, slipping his delicate fingers into Bucky’s, pushing their palms together. Tony shrugged and sipped his eggnog.

“Glad you guys are back at it. Barnes has been a fucking nightmare since you left,” Tony announced, leaning against the sleek marble counter.

“I second that,” Clint agreed, raising his glass. Bucky huffed out a sigh and collapsed into a chair at the round table, tugging Steve with him. Steve climbed into Bucky’s lap happily, and leaned forward on his elbows.

“Deal us in?” Steve asked, and Pepper grinned, shuffling the cards swiftly. Bucky tightened his arms around Steve’s waist.

 

* * *

 

“Alright here’s the plan, I get Steve on the weekends, and Tony gets him on alternating Wednesdays. Bucky is in custody of him for the rest of the time,” Natasha recapped, taking a long drink of her eggnog once she finished talking.

“I don’t _want_ Tony to have custody,” Steve pouted.

“Tough,” Tony said, spitting particles of Christmas cookie as he spoke.

“Don’t worry Steve, I’ll make sure he behaves,” Pepper consoled, patting Steve’s arm. Pepper and Tony had been friends since they were ten, and lovers half that time. For reasons beyond understanding, their relationship was stronger than most their high school had ever seen. It baffled them all, but they accepted it.

All Steve could do was laugh. He would stay with them, if he could. If he didn’t have a new school and doctor’s appointments and responsibilities. God, how he wanted to stay.

“You guys all know how it would really end up though, don’t you? We wouldn’t see any of Steve. Not unless we wanted to see Bucky’s ugly mug as well,” Clint reminded.

“Correct. Very correct,” Bucky nodded. Steve was still sat on Bucky’s lap, despite the open chairs.

“I like your ugly mug, Barnes,” Sam announced, turning his nose up just slightly so as to appear matter-of-fact.

“Sam, you sure know how to flatter a man,” Bucky grinned, clapping Sam on the back. Steve just smiled and listened quietly as the banter continued in a manner that was all too familiar, and yet so distant.

 

* * *

 

Steve didn’t like to measure time in minutes. He didn’t like to measure it in days or weeks or years, either. Time was impersonal, it was not all things to all people.

When Steve looked at Bucky, he didn’t see seventeen years. He didn’t see 4,000 days or 105 thousand hours. He saw sixteen camping trips and 2,000 something cups of coffee. He saw four horror movie marathons, one funeral, two weddings, six movie premiers and twelve E.R. trips.

When Steve looked at Bucky, he saw seventeen icy Christmas mornings. He saw the light surrounding Bucky’s face, too young at first to understand its beauty.

But he understood it now. God, did he understand it.

“Bucky,” Steve hissed, just like he had every Christmas morning since he could remember. “Wake up. It’s Christmas.”

Bucky stirred beside him, cuddled up tightly in the blankets of their shared bed. Cold blue eyes blinked up at him in a daze, before Steve’s mouth twisted into a wicked smile. Steve knew that smile. He knew all of Bucky’s smiles.

“It’s Christmas,” Bucky repeated.

“Yes, now get up,” Steve didn’t even try to hide his excitement. He leaned forward on his elbows, pressing cold lips to Bucky’s. Bucky grinned against Steve’s mouth, because even after a lifetime of Christmas mornings beside Steve, this was the first time he actually had a chance to do _that_.

“Should we wake up mom?” Steve didn’t even clarify which mom he was talking about. It didn’t matter.

“Nah,” Bucky nuzzled against Steve’s cheek, still grinning, “Let’s just open all the presents by ourselves.”

“No,” Steve laughed, giddy on a holiday high better than any narcotic. “That’s bad. Bad Bucky.”

Bucky let out a whine before pressing a sloppy kiss to Steve’s cheek and slipping from the bed. He held Steve’s hand as they entered the guest bedroom, flickering the light switch in excitement. The sun was barely starting to rise over the city.

“Mom,” Steve whined. “Get up.”

“Yeah Mom,” Bucky echoed, “Come on.”

Sarah grumbled something a burrowed deeper into the borrowed blankets. Steve counted that as a success, and they dashed to Cate’s room next.

 

* * *

 

“You two do realize you’re almost adults right?” Sarah asked as she poured herself coffee, the boys hovering around the presents. Age had not changed the childlike joy Steve felt regarding Christmas. Bucky’s excuse was, and always had been, that he was only excited because Steve’s delight was contagious.

Everyone let the lie slide.

“So?” Steve asked, eyeing the full stocking at the mantle of the fireplace.

“Yeah, so?” Cate mimicked, knocking her shoulder against Steve’s and reaching for the first stocking. It had Steve’s name embroidered on the top as a product of one of Cate’s artistic endeavours. Steve had helped. He was only nine.

Steve took the offered stocking from Cate warmly, clutching it tight to his chest. He waited until Cate passed Bucky his before tearing into it.

Sarah and Cate picked through their own, fully aware of the content as they had been the ones to stuff them the night before. Much more entertaining than the contents though, was the sight of their boys, crossed legged on the carpet awing at their gifts. Most of the presents were inexpensive; there were piles of tacky Christmas chocolate and new socks. Hidden in the middle were new DVDs, as was tradition. Bucky got _Dodgeball_ and Steve _Zoolander_. It seemed as if the theme this year was Ben Stiller.

Bucky unwrapped a deformed marshmallow Santa, waving it in Steve’s face before stuffing it in his mouth.

“Healthy breakfast there, Buckaroo,” Cate chided. Bucky stook a chocolate covered tongue out at her. Even the gentle teasing was a part of tradition.

“Okay, now presents,” Steve said, sliding across the floor to start sorting through them. Bucky crawled across the floor as well, joining Steve at the base of the tree. There wasn’t an overwhelming amount of presents, a dozen at most. But, as the boys had always known, it wasn’t the quantity that mattered.

Steve passed out the presents methodically, separating them into piles by receiver. Once he had finished, he hoisted his haul into his arms and deposited them on the couch, curling up on the cushions.

“This one’s to both of us,” Bucky said, holding up a brilliantly wrapped gift addressed to “The Boys” and signed from “Santa”.

“I know,” Steve answered, watching Bucky. “You open it.”

Bucky shrugged, slipping a finger under the most convenient flap, and tearing the paper quickly. He glanced at Sarah and Cate, wondering which one of them was going by Santa this year. Probably the both of them.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Bucky laughed, holding the box in his hands. Cate exploded in laughter, smacking Sarah lightly on the arm. Bucky got the feeling his mom hadn’t known what was beneath the paper.

“Cards Against Humanity?” Steve asked, watching Bucky who was still sat on the floor by the tree. “What kind of family gets Cards Against Humanity for Christmas?”

“Ours apparently,” Bucky grinned, setting the box down and collecting the shredded paper into a pile. “It _obviously_ the perfect Christmas game.”

“We’re playing that later,” Sarah ordered, and Bucky and Steve nodded enthusiastically.

The pile of destroyed holiday paper began to grow, surrounding Bucky on the floor as everyone opened their gifts. There was chatting and photo taking and Frank Sinatra playing softly from the stereo. Bucky put on his new cotton gloves the moment his opened them, the cloth over his fingers making opening presents a slippery process. Steve did the same when he opened up a box revealing a soft winter hat, with ear flaps and lined with faux-rabbit fur.

The boys grinned at each other playfully, looking absolutely ridiculous wearing their snow attire in the warm living room. Sarah had a cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck, courtesy of Bucky, and Cate was cuddled comfortably under a massive fleece blanket Steve had purchased. It was covered with tiny owls, and Cate absolutely adored it.

“Oh wow,” Bucky grinned, unwrapping the only two Led Zeppelin CDs he didn’t already own. A gift from his mother. “Mom, please, can I put this on? Please?”

“Aw, what perfect Christmas music,” Sarah teased. Bucky hopped to his feet, sticking the CDs in the player. Cate rolled her eyes as “The Song Remained the Same” filtered through the speakers.

Bucky beamed as he returned to his seat in the middle of the floor, checking to see if he had any remaining presents. He reached for the only one he hadn’t opened yet: Steve’s. It was a neat little rectangular package, the edges of the wrapping paper perfectly symmetrical. Steve was an artist, after all.

Bucky was careful not to rip the paper, and he wasn’t sure why. He unveiled two books delicately, stacked on top of one another.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Bucky grinned, glad his mother was too busy talking to Cate to notice his swearing. Bucky admired the titles of the paperbacks, _Slaughterhouse Five_ and _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. Books he’d been meaning to read but hadn’t gotten around to yet.

“Guess I saved the best for last, eh Stevie?” Bucky laughed, looking up to Steve on the couch. Steve wasn’t paying attention to Bucky though. He wasn’t paying attention to anyone. In his trembling hands sat Bucky’s gift.

The books felt heavy in Steve’s hands. It was one he recognized well. Beside the worn comic, though, was a brand new one. Just below the stylized title was a small note, gently taped to the cover.

 _Here’s to another book’s worth of memories._  
_What do you say?_  
_You with me?_

“Steve?” Bucky asked concerned. Steve had completely locked up, his face pale. Cate and Sarah stopped talking immediately, hearing the distress in Bucky’s voice. It was mother’s instinct. They watched in silence as Bucky shuffled across the carpet so he was kneeling in front of Steve, who still sat on the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“Bucky…” Steve whispered, tearing his eyes away from the cover to stare at Bucky, his eyes full of tears.

“Hey now, don’t do that,” Bucky consoled, stretching up to cup Steve’s face in his hands. “It was all in fun, Steve. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Steve shook his head, blinking rapidly.

“You didn’t, no, you didn’t. I’m not upset,” Steve stuttered. He clenched his jaw to stop his lips from trembling.

“Yeah you are,” Bucky chewed on his bottom lip. “God, Steve, I’m so sorry.”

Steve shook his head again, pressing his cheek against Bucky’s palm. He placed the books in his lap carefully, reaching up to curl long fingers around Bucky’s wrists. Bucky watched him, searching Steve’s watery eyes.

“Don’t cry. Please don’t. It’s Christmas.”

Steve smiled weakly, nodding. Sarah and Cate exchanged glances, their own eyes wet. Sarah burned with the desire to hug Steve close and comfort him as best she could, but this wasn’t her place. This was between her son and the love of his life. So she just watched, her heart crumbling.

Nobody said a word as Bucky climbed on to the couch beside Steve, tucking him against his chest protectively. Bucky whispered soft words into Steve’s hair as Steve shook with huge, wracking sobs.

Sarah covered her own mouth the muffle the sound of crying. She stood quickly and slipped from the room, unable to watch any longer. Cate followed soundlessly. Neither boy noticed, too wrapped up in each other to care.

“I’m with you Bucky,” Steve choked, “Till the end of this. Till the end of the line.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky stroked a gentle hand along Steve’s back, breathing in the scent of his straw colored hair. “Yeah, I know.”

The stereo continued to croon in the otherwise silent room around the boys, “The Rain Song” offering a gentle soundtrack to their crushing breakdown.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, okay, sorry guys, but the clear winner here is ‘The American Dream is a slippery slope to Firing a rifle into the air while balls-deep in a squealing hog’.”

Steve cheered as his card combination won, leaning across the table to snatch the black card from Bucky’s fingers.

“Thanks, babe,” he said cheekily. Bucky winked at him.

“Why is that even a card?” Cate lamented, her head in her hands. Sarah was laughing so hard tears streamed down her cheeks.

Since the emotional morning in the living room, things had calmed down significantly in the household. Or rather, they had gotten less tragic.

“Alright so Cate is voting on-”

“Wait,” Steve interrupted Bucky with a wicked grin, “Guess who already has ten Awesome Points?”

“What the hell? You won already?” Bucky gaped, looking at his own pile of black cards. He only had two.

“Yep,” Steve smirked.

“Nothing to be proud of, son,” Sarah said, “That just means you’re the most terrible person here.”

“Which is _absolutely_ something to be proud of!” Steve corrected. “Should we see if I can win a second time around?”

“Okay I’m done. I’m going to make dinner. You guys play your horrible game,” Cate laughed, standing from the table.

“We can’t play with just three people,” Steve whined.

“Cate’s right. We should probably start cooking if we plan on eating before,” Sarah paused to check the time on her phone, “Midnight.”

“Okay,” Steve shrugged, passing his cards to Bucky, who began packing them away. All four of them were dizzy with laughter, their mouths sore from grinning so forcefully. Steve stood from the table, following his mother into the kitchen to refill his wine glass. It was another Christmas tradition of the Barnes/Rogers household: wine on Christmas afternoon. For years Cate and Sarah rejected the boys’ participation, before finally giving in when they turned sixteen.

Returning to the table with his second glass of wine, his cheeks warm with delight, Steve draped himself across Bucky’s back. He set his glass down on the table in front of Bucky, his arms wrapping around broad shoulders.

“Wanna dance?” Steve asked, nuzzling against Bucky’s ear. Bucky tipped his head to the side, letting Steve place a warm kiss on the side of his neck.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky agreed, taking a sip of Steve’s wine before standing.

Steve fit comfortably against his chest, their fingers cupping each others in a formal waltz. They knew the drill. After all, they had been slow dancing together since they even knew what it meant. Tchaikovsky had replaced Led Zeppelin hours ago, which had disappointed Bucky at first. Now he admitted it was a very good switch, as they swayed to the soft sounds of “Waltz of Flowers”.

Bucky twirled Steve playfully. Steve laughed.

“Remember when you were smaller and couldn’t spin me like that?” Steve reminisced. Around others he often got uncomfortable when talking about his size, but not around Bucky.

“Nope,” Bucky smiled, cupping his hand against Steve’s waist. “You were always tiny. As long as I’ve known you.”

“Oh shut up. We used to be the same size, you jerk. Then you went and grew up.”

“Aw, are you jealous, baby?” Bucky pestered, pouting.

“Nope,” Steve said honestly, tucking his head under Bucky’s chin. Bucky slid his arms around Steve tighter, still swaying to the music. “If I was taller I couldn’t do this.”

“Indeed,” Bucky laughed, holding Steve close.

Sarah and Cate watched in adoration, snapping pictures on their phones. Bucky stuck his tongue out at them, but let them take their pictures. They looked utterly ridiculous, still dressed in flannel pajamas, their hair messy from sleep the night before. They danced awkwardly in the kitchen, untrained and completely unprofessional.

It was without a doubt the most romantic thing Sarah and Cate had ever seen.

 

* * *

 

“Want to go get hot chocolate?” Bucky asked the following afternoon as he lay stretched out on the couch, his head in Steve’s lap.

“Right now?” Steve asked, glancing down to Bucky’s face.

“Yeah. Cafe Noir maybe?”

“I guess so,” Steve shrugged. “Should I see if Nat and Clint want to meet us?”

“Nah,” Bucky smiled, climbing from the couch and engaging in a massive, full body stretch. Steve tracked his movement with hungry eyes. “Just you and me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Steve teased, reaching out to snag Bucky’s hand and pull him closer. Bucky stepped forward until his thighs bumped Steve’s knees.

“Yes sir,” Bucky leaned forward for a soft kiss before tugging hard on Steve’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “Get dressed.”

Steve obeyed, smiling fondly to himself as he did so.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky didn’t go on dates. They hadn’t they’re whole lives. Not until now, apparently.

“What are doing, Buck?” Steve asked, swinging their linked fingers between their bodies. Bucky was leading the way, red scarf wrapped warmly around his neck and chin, trudging through the snowy Brooklyn streets toward the movie theater.

“Going to a movie? Like couples do?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are we suddenly going on dates? We didn’t do that before,” Steve clarified.

“Because now’s our only chance,” Bucky laughed, tugging Steve to the ticket booth. Steve huffed out a steamy breath and watched the gray steam curl and twist in the night air.

They shared a bucket of popcorn and giggled when their fingers touched. When they made out in the back row like the horny teenagers they were, Bucky tasted like Red Vines.

 

* * *

 

They only had four more days together before Steve left.

 

* * *

 

Tony:  
Laser tag??? >:)

Steve:  
Can’t. On a date ;)

Tony:  
A date? With Barnes?

Steve:  
Yep. He bought me a milkshake. <3

Tony:  
Gross stop omg

Steve:  
Bye Tonyyyyy ;)))

 

* * *

 

Steve woke up the day before Natasha’s New Year’s Eve party to a cold bed. Bucky’s side of the bed was already empty, and Steve shivered in the cold. The house was silent as he wrapped thin arms around himself trying to get warm.

In the kitchen, Steve pulled a coffee cup from the cupboard and reached for the coffee pot, stopping when a dash of yellow caught his eye. Lying in stark contrast to the monochrome of the coffee pot was a plain sticky note. Taped to the glass just below it were two tickets to… something.

Steve pulled the note into his thin fingers, which still ached with winter cold. Steve recognized Bucky’s familiar scrawl.

_A bad poem because you like stuff like that:_

_I bet you look beautiful_  
_with blue lips_  
_and snow in your hair._

Steve grinned at the note, his chest constricting at the words. He replaced it carefully to the glass, careful not to crumple it. Taking the tickets into his palm he finally understood what the poem was asking. Between his fingers sat two tickets to the ice skating rink downtown.

Who would have thought Bucky was such a sap?

 

* * *

 

  
Steve and Bucky kissed at midnight at Natasha’s New Year’s Eve party. But before there was kissing at midnight, there was cinnamon whiskey and dancing to Franz Ferdinand and at least one lap dance.

At 9:00 pm, Tony found a small silver flask while raiding Natasha’s room. He proceeded to fill it to the brim with the last of the Fireball that sat on Natasha’s counter. After that, he ostentatiously pulled it from the inside pocket of his jacket at every conversation and took a long drink, mimicking some sort of television detective or perhaps an alcoholic businessman.

Either way, Tony was plastered within an hour. He leaned against Bucky at the kitchen counter, pawing at Bucky’s scowl with his clumsy fingers and slurring his words.

“You wanna know something, Barnes?” Tony’s gaze was lecherous as he spoke. Bucky watched in disgust, catching Steve’s eyes from across the counter. Steve simply shrugged and sipped his drink.

“Not really.”

“Well I‘m telling you anyway. You and Rogers are fucking gross, you know? I saw you kissing in the living room. Disgusting.”

“What are you even on about, Stark?” Bucky shoved Tony away, and he began to laugh.

“I mean it with love, Buckaroo. You two are like… Artemis and Apollo.”

Bucky looked horrified. Steve exploded in laughter.

“Artemis and Apollo were siblings, Tony,” Steve explained.

“Exactly!” Tony cheered, then froze. “No, wait, what? Who am I thinking of?”

“No clue. Your drunkass isn’t making any sense at all.”

“Give me a love couple -- a couple in love. That’s what I meant. Romeo and Juliet or some shit.”

“Are you trying to say we’re gross because we’re in love?” Bucky asked, still scowling.

“Yes!” Tony took a sloppy drink from his flask, looking proud.

“Tony, probably just… _don’t_ talk when you’re drunk, okay? It’d be better for everyone.”

“I completely agree,” Tony nodded seriously, still laughing at his severe misunderstanding of Greek mythology. “Are you sure Artemis and Apollo were siblings?”

“Jesus Christ…” Bucky dropped his head backwards, a loud bang sounding from its collision with Natasha’s wooden cupboards. Steve just laughed.

 

* * *

 

At 11:00 pm Sam collapsed on the couch beside Steve, following his gaze as he watched Bucky dance with Natasha. Steve was content to watch. He and Bucky could dance later.

“Enjoying the party?” Sam asked.

“Mm,” Steve hummed into his drink, nodding his head. He didn’t take his eyes away from Bucky.

“Only an hour till the new year,” Sam noted as he checks his phone. “New Year’s resolution?”

“Mine?” Steve asked absentmindedly.

“Yeah yours,” Sam snorts.

“To marry the love of my life,” Steve said without hesitation. He was still watching Bucky move, watching him throw his head back in laughter.

“No seriously man,” Sam laughed, though he was touched by Steve’s sentiment. “What’s your resolution?”

Steve turned to him then, bright blue eyes pinning Sam to the cushions. Steve’s face was bright and excited but still serious. The smile on his face is a tiny thing, barely a twist of his lips, but it spoke volumes.

“I was being serious.”

“Don’t let Bucky hear you saying shit like that man,” Sam said, because he didn’t know how to properly respond. He wanted to tell Steve that he was just a kid, that he shouldn’t be thinking about things like that. Sam was logical, but there was something about Bucky and Steve that transcended logic. It was beautiful and graceful and Sam was not above admitting his envy.

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll do something stupid. Like propose.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky was Steve’s first kiss of the New Year. Everything was as it should be.

 

* * *

 

  
Their last day tasted bitter. More than just the winter was cold. Steve and Bucky paced around the house early in the morning, feeling as if they had already done this once before. It was just after sunrise that Steve and Bucky found themselves on the Barnes’s porch, shifting bags over their shoulders and reluctant to say goodbye.

“This sucks,” Bucky said finally, chewing on his bottom lip. Steve’s fingers were linked in his own, Steve’s shoulder pressed against Bucky’s chest as they leaned against each other.

Sarah was filling up her coffee thermos in the kitchen. Once she was finished she would pack her final bag in the car, and everything would end. Steve would leave, and Bucky would be alone.

“It’s not for forever,” Steve muttered. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his nose into Steve’s hair.

“Buck?” Steve whispered after a moment, pulling away from Bucky’s warmth. There was still snow on the ground, so different from the sunny August day on which Steve had last left. “I want to give you something.”

“What?” Bucky asked, staring at their hands as Steve unlatched their fingers. He continued to watch Steve’s long fingers as they reached behind his head, unclasped the thin chain there. He slid one of the silver dog tags from the chain, slipping it into his pocket.

“I can get another chain for this one,” he explained, draping the remaining dog tag around Bucky’s neck. Bucky instinctively pinched the metal between his fingers, crossing his eyes to stare at where it hung on his chest. _Rogers, Joseph_ it read in small embossed letters.

“I can’t take this, Steve. This is your dad’s.”

“No, it’s _mine_. My dad’s dead, Buck.”

“I know that,” Bucky rolled his eyes, though he felt as though he was about to vomit. “I just… I can’t. You can’t give this to me.”

“I’m not,” Steve wrapped a thin index finger around Bucky’s, swinging his hand lightly. “I’m letting you borrow it.”

“Borrow it?” The cold was starting to get to Bucky, and his jaw trembled in the frigid air.

“It’s a promise, okay? That soon, as soon as I can, I’m going to come back and we’re going to do it right, okay?” Steve’s lips were trembling, and Bucky wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or not. His eyes were clear and trusting.

“You going to make an honest man out of me, Rogers?” Bucky teased, bumping his nose against Steve’s and pressing their foreheads together.

“Damn right I am, Barnes.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Their last kiss was with lips numb from the cold.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky got married on May 10. Steve said he liked the date because it was usually pretty outside, and Spring was his favorite season. Bucky said he liked the date because it meant he got to marry Steve.

Tony asked if he could plan the wedding. They sternly said no; he planned it anyway. There was an ice sculpture, and it was held on a maple farm in Vermont. The bar was Bucky’s favorite part. Steve’s favorite part was the way the sky was just as blue as Bucky’s eyes.

Everyone cheered when Bucky stood to make a toast during the reception. Tony and Pepper sat in the front row, alongside Cate and Sara. Natasha sat with Clint, their fingers intertwined. Thor and Bruce and Sam were there too. So were all the friends they’d made along the way, Maria and Vision and the Maximoff twins. Everyone whistled when Bucky kissed Steve as he stood.

“First off, I’d like to thank you all for coming,” Bucky started formally, tossing back the remaining sips of his champagne. “And I’d like to take this opportunity to engage in my favorite activity of all time: teasing Steve. I mean, what better time is there to embarrass my best friend than at his wedding? I mean, it happens to be my wedding as well, but details, details, you know? Anyway, I don’t know if we told all of you how this all came to be. Maybe you guys can help me figure out if it’s romantic or just sloppy.

“So we’re driving to work one morning -- because that’s obviously the most romantic setting to exist ever -- and he just goes, ‘Hey, so, we should probably get married soon,’ and I was completely taken aback and he just laughs and says, ‘Don’t even pretend you didn’t see that coming.’

“And I am completely lost at this point and I’m like, “What the fuck, Steve? We aren’t even engaged.” and he just laughs -- yeah, the fucker, just laughs like it’s nothing -- and says, ‘Buck, we’ve been engaged since we were seventeen.’

“And you know what? He isn’t wrong. Our real engagement was on my porch steps when I was still a senior in high school. He gave me his father’s dog tag and told me he would make an honest man out of me. It was just a joke then. And for years after that it was still just a joke. But at some point it stopped being one and started being the only truth I’d ever known. Nothing else mattered, because I wore Joseph Rogers’s dog tags around my neck as a promise that someday I was going to marry Steve.

“And here I am. Here we all are. And all I can think to say now is, Steve Rogers, you’re the only thing in my life that ever made any goddamn sense and I love you so fucking much.”

Steve surged to his feet as Bucky finished his last words, both of them wiping away tears. His arms were tight around Bucky’s neck and he breathed in the sweet scent of his -- best friend, boyfriend, soulmate -- _husband_.

The cheers that sounded were almost deafening.

It was long after their first dance, and their second, and third, that Bucky and Steve stood alone. Steve was tucked against Bucky’s chest, both of them leaning peacefully against a high wall of the gazebo they had wed beneath.

“You know,” Steve said, watching Wanda Maximoff twirl beneath Vision’s arm. “I always knew I would marry you.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away, letting Steve’s comment echo through his mind as he watched the pair dance as well. Wanda was so young, the age Steve and Bucky had been that chilly morning on the porch when they exchanged dogtags and promises. He wished all the best for her, and her equally young boyfriend. The Vision. His real name was Victor, of course, but his artistic streak was a mile long, and the tattoo designs on his arms all his own. He was a visionary, certainly. The nickname fit.

They said they were in love. Bucky hoped to God they were right. Young love was the most beautiful thing he’d ever known.

“No you didn’t,” Bucky laughed finally.

Steve considered Tony and Pepper for a moment, watching them chat beside the bar. Another couple who had made it through the test of time, highschool sweethearts who reached the big leagues, golden rings glinting on their fingers. Not far off was Natasha, watching her own husband tease his pouty looking intern. Clint had befriended Wanda when she applied at the outdoor recreation store he owned; her brother came as a package deal, and the rest is history. Pietro continued to frown as Clint dragged him onto the dancefloor, Natasha cheering them on with a wolf whistle.

“I guess I didn’t,” Steve agrees. “But I hoped.”

Just like Tony and Pepper hoped. Like Natasha and Clint hoped. Like Wanda and Vision were hoping.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to his husband’s hair. “I hoped so too.”

 


End file.
